Questions
by AboardAMoose
Summary: Kili is a curious young dwarf, and won't stop asking questions. This can be irritating, amusing, intrusive - and it can show people you care. Thorin/Kili implied. Therefore slash and incest. If you don't like it, don't click, I've warned you. Oneshot.


**Questions**

**Warnings: **Incest, and spoilers for the book if you haven't yet read it (though manipulated somewhat) and the film. Obviously.

**A/N: **I'm still kind of working out the characters in this pairing, so please forgive the roughness of this fic. I shall have to play with them some more before I sort them out properly. But I guess you guys probably won't mind that?

"If you owned an Eagle, and could fly to any place in this World, where would you go?" Kíli's voice, slightly breathless from the fast pace of their march, piped up as they climbed yet another hill.

Few offered a reply at once – hardly in the mood for yet another one of the youngest dwarf's games, but Gandalf paid attention. "The Great Eagles, creation of Manwë himself, Lord of the Skies, save your ungrateful skin from otherwise almost certain death, and you think them no more than speedy horses? Shame on you."

Fíli giggled at his brother's chastisement, and received a thump in the ribs from the youngest member of their company, and a thunderous glare from the eldest.

For a moment or two, silence fell, broken only by Bombur's chesty wheeze, before Dori spoke, "I would fly East, and East, and East. To see the mountains at the edge of the Rhûn."

The dwarves marching abreast of him looked at him with curiosity, confused as to why their companion would choose a place lost in time as his destination. But Nori smiled, "My brother spends far longer than is natural with his nose in books. He wishes to see the lands where our cousins from other Dwarvish families came to be."

"It is well to develop one's knowledge of those we call kin..." Dori shrugged. "You never know when it might be useful."

From somewhere at the back, Bilbo called, "Never mind diplomacy. I can think of better uses for wings. Like flight. And speed. And fighting a dragon. That can fly."

"Our burglar has the right idea," Óin agreed.

"Dwarves have no place in the air. We belong on the ground and in the ground. So save your energy daydreaming and spend it focusing upon your feet. That way, we'll get there soon enough," Thorin snapped out.

He ignored Kíli's resentful mutter of "I can do both". He was adult enough not to need the last word, even if his nephew was not.

000

_Why did he do that? Why did he put him down in front of all the others? Didn't he know why he asked, and kept on asking?_

000

It was a rare moment of peace, reclining in the house of the reluctantly generous Beorn. The dwarves sat in huddles, chatting, drinking, and in some cases, tuning their instruments softly. Thorin sat closest to the fire, fingers lightly stroking a borrowed harp. It was much larger than his own, but he was rather intrigued to at least try it. Alongside him, the youngest pair of brothers were basking in the warmth of the fire, Fíli propped on a stool, Kíli sprawling on a rug.

The younger dwarf had what the rest of the company referred to as his 'bothering to think face' on, and it generally led to trouble. This occasion seemed to be no different – not least because Fíli was not the patient sort.

"For... What's on your mind, Kíli?" he grumbled, after the younger dwarf's fifth "hmm..."

"I was wondering..." Kíli said slowly, eyes following one of Beorn's dogs around the room. "I was wondering what animal I would be if I could be one. And what you would be."

A small "humph" of amusement escaped Thorin's lips, but Fíli laughed the louder.

"You'd be something loud. And bald," Fíli said, cuffing Kíli under his sparsely haired chin.

"Says he of many fine bristles," laughed Glóin, mockingly, stroking his own mighty facial hair.

"Not another bloody beard competition?" growled Bofur, rolling his eyes heavenwards. He always lost - when the childlike Kíli was not present.

Kíli allowed them to dig and rib each other for a few minutes, until Bombur waddled forwards, and slammed his knotted rope of a beard down on the table, silencing further argument.

"I think we know what Bombur would be," he muttered to Fíli, before pressing his nose up with his finger snorting.

"Your immaturity never ceases to surprise me," Fíli replied, feigning a superior tone. He played up the five extra years he had on Kíli as often as he could, though some of the dwarves in their company had five times that on him.

"You're far from a wise old owl. More of a jack rabbit," grumbled Kíli. He looked around the room, somewhat thoughtfully. "I think Bofur's probably some sort of dog. And Dwalin could challenge Beorn as a bear."

An eyebrow raised, Fíli pondered, "Perhaps something of a shorter bear."

"Ooh!" Kíli exclaimed, suddenly hit by inspiration. "Bifur as a badger!"

Searching around the room, Fíli deliberated. "Ori is something of a... a deer. Not an elegant one -"

"-I should think not-"

"-A gangly one. Clumsy."

"Furry."

The young dwarves dissolved into chuckles at their own jokes. Thorin smirked at them. "You are in good humour this evening."

"Good food and a warm fire?" Kíli grinned back. "How else would we be?"

"You sound like a cat," Fíli said, eyes narrowed as he observed his brother.

"That I could imagine," Thorin laughed, pushing his harp away. "And what am I?" There was a challenge in his voice, and both young dwarves knew it.

Kíli sat back on his hands, contemplating, unusually thoughtful. Fíli stared down at his feet, also wondering. "Some sort of... Wolf? Perhaps?"

"Fíli!" Kíli protested, outraged, on Thorin's behalf, at the implication of his older brother's thoughtless statement. "I was going to say an ox. Strong, and a little... stubborn."

Somewhat fortunately, Thorin was in good humour also, and he laughed. "I can see which of the two of you holds more affection for me. Now..." As he leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially, he noticed a slight blush on Kíli's cheeks – perhaps from the heat of the fire. It distracted him for a moment, but he carried on regardless, "I have often thought Nori to hold something of a resemblance to a goat, in his more... unusual moments. Of which there are many."

000

_Wanting to know wasn't wrong. It kept people alive. But so did reserve, and strength in silence. And wanting to laugh, just bringing joy... it could break one from despair, when thoughts ran too deep._

_That was no bad thing either._

000

"What do you dream of?" Kíli was stretched out on the grass, beneath the stars, but not sleeping though many of his companions did. It had been a long day's ride.

Fíli rolled his eyes at his brother. "It's late, Kíli, go to sleep."

Rolling onto his side, and propping himself up on his elbow, Kíli persisted, "But really, what do you dream of?"

"Anything," Fíli shrugged, uncertainly. "Home, accidentally forgetting to get dressed of a morning, getting lost in forests, you turning into a penguin... The list goes on."

In something of a jump, far too active for the time of night, Kíli turned onto his front, and gazed around at the sleeping dwarves. "What do you think Bombur dreams of?"

Shaking his head, Fíli pulled his thick blanket over himself. "I'm not doing it."

Cajoling, Kíli pleaded, "Come on Fíli, play the game... I won't be quiet until you do."

"You are a child, brother of mine," Fíli exhaled heavily. And gave in. It was easier. "Fine. Food. Bombur dreams of food. Obviously."

"What do you think Dwalin dreams of?"

"That blasted axe of his."

"What do you think Bofur dreams of?"

"Hats that fit his ridiculous hair."

Kíli stifled chuckles, and turned to the next dwarf. "What do you think Glóin dreams of?"

"The two drooling infants that plague us with their chattering shutting their mouths and going to sleep," the dwarf in question snapped out.

Both young ones laughed, and rolled over into their sleeping positions. But the youngest was quickly distracted, as Thorin walked past, tramping his way out of the woods. On a whim, he called out, "Thorin, we're playing a game. What do you dream of?"

Thorin barely glanced over at Kíli. "Nothing. I don't dream."

Confused, Kíli craned his head back to follow his Uncle's movements. "Don't remember your dreams, or don't dream?"

"Don't dream. Ever. Go to sleep." The brusque tone was familiar, and was one of the few things that would actually make Kíli quiet down. Regret twinged inside of him, that he had touched upon a nerve and upset the dwarf who...

He was silent for the rest of the night.

000

_Weakness could not be tolerated. Weakness got people killed. And too many people had died already – good dwarves had spilled too much blood._

_Sometimes, that insistent openness became too much. Sometimes Thorin snapped._

_Sometimes Thorin regretted it. Sometimes it was his weakness._

000

They sat, for days, weeks, in cold stone cells. The problem with cold stone cells – one of the problems with cold stone cells – was that the walls were very thick. It was quite part of their design. And as a result, they could hear very little from those cells that neighboured them. Yet Kíli still managed to make himself heard to his neighbours. Bombur was not very vocal, and neither was Thorin on his other side – but Kíli eventually coaxed conversation out of the latter dwarf.

Boredom took over. And so Kíli did what he always did – and played his game. Asked his questions.

"What's your favourite food?"

"Don't talk about food right now, Kíli." Thorin cut him off – and Kíli quite understood why. His own stomach growled in its emptiness. None of their company was used to the paltry fare that arrived on stone plates twice a day. They presumed. There was no sunlight in their cellar.

Taking a breath, he tried again, "Do you like it when the rain falls? I like the sound it makes on the roof."

Once more, the reply was sharp. "I hadn't noticed."

"Where's the favourite place you've played your harp?"

There was a long pause, before Thorin replied, so softly Kíli almost missed the response. "In Erebor, at the knee of my grandfather's throne."

Sensing Thorin opening up, Kíli carefully pressed him, "When you were young?"

"Yes. Those halls were filled with more than the music of the hammer and chisel on a multitude of precious riches."

Though the floor was cold and uncomfortable, Kíli took a seat, and tipped his head back against the wall. He wondered if Thorin sat the same, a mirror image. "It will be again. We'll get out of here. And it will be again. Don't you think?"

"That's not one of your usual questions."

Kíli smiled, wryly. "It should not surprise you that you get more than my usual questions."

Another moment of quiet reigned, before Thorin asked, "And why is that?"

Lightly, Kíli replied, "That's not fair. I ask the questions."

"It's good for your health to have the tables turned on you once in a while. Keep you on your toes."

"Not much doing that in here," Kíli observed.

There was more than a question, more than a hidden meaning in Thorin's voice when he said, "Perhaps it's about time then. Why do you ask your questions?"

Kíli mulled the thought over in his mind, before settling on the answer, "I'm curious. About everything. I know some people perceive it as a fault... But then I know... things. And so... I don't care."

The low voice carried through the walls, calm and steady. "Why did you hesitate to answer?"

"Because I would like you to think well of me." This time, the response was firm and confident, if quiet. Kíli was glad Thorin did not share his room, for he'd have seen him blush.

"I do think well of you, Kíli." A warmth spread in Kíli's stomach at the response, but Thorin continued, "You ought not to need me to tell you that."

"Not need," Kíli was quick to refute. "Want, perhaps."

"Ah, now don't those two oft walk hand in hand?"

And so they talked, and played the game, through sunless hours.

000

_Those questions. They drew you in, until you couldn't escape, until it was more than a conversation. Sometimes it was a confession. Sometimes it was a long, ongoing riddle, or metaphor, or game, or... Distraction. Intense. But a distraction._

_It filled Thorin's thoughts._

000

"You're soaked," Kíli observed, chuckling as he squeezed out his clothes – merely damp compared to the sodden furs of his leader's.

"I hope you're not going to ask why," Thorin growled, gesturing at at the roaring river.

Exhilarated by the long-awaited freedom, and Thorin joking with him, Kíli threw his head back and laughed aloud. "I know I've been accused of being dense in the past, but I am not. Not quite that bad at any rate." Glancing down at himself, he swore, "Bugger it all. These breeches are more water than wool. I'm going into the trees to wring them out."

Thorin glanced around at the group of dwarves, all focused upon their own clothing, hair and beards. "I might join you."

There was a wicked glint in his eyes, as Kíli challenged, "Why would that be?"

"We do not play your game now, young one," Thorin's lips curved upwards. "We'll have to be quick, if we are to play any game at all."

"I do not believe that will be too much of an issue."

With a last surreptitious glance around, Thorin followed Kíli into the trees.


End file.
